The great thing about the dead, they make space.
How can the planet keep turning and turning and not get so bored it explodes?
We do survive every moment, after all, except the last one.
We were all brought up to want things and maybe the world isn't big enough for all that wanting. I don't know. I don't know anything
I want to write books that unlock the traffic jam in everybody's head.
From infancy on, we are all spies; the shame is not this but that the secrets to be discovered are so paltry and few.